


The Tickle Monster is an Elephant in the Room

by The_Sherlocked_Shadow



Series: Explorations and Explosions [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Desperation, Desperation Play, M/M, Piss kink, Tickling, Very slight dub-con, Watersports, Wet Dream, but Sherlock really enjoys it, pissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sherlocked_Shadow/pseuds/The_Sherlocked_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being highly ticklish and having a terribly full bladder are two things that simply don't mesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tickle Monster is an Elephant in the Room

Sherlock rolled over lazily, trying to chase the remnants of a pleasant dream from his mind. His brain was foggy with sleep and the after-effects of a dream was still there. He didn't want to move from the warm caccoon of his bed and feather-down duvet.

He had been dreaming about being on a case and desperately needing the loo.

_He squirmed his way through the cab ride to the crime scene. He barely kept his calm under the stare of Scotland Yard waiting for him to solve the case. The urge to piss was clawing at him, tearing his bladder to shreds, but John had made him promise: solve a case, then you have a celebratory piss._

_It was stupid in hindsight, as John had been layering him up with tea and coffee all morning. His bladder was full to bursting and it took minutes instead of seconds to find the connection at the crime scene. He cursed his bladder and its incessant need, but as he had jumped up with an exclamation of the killer, he had felt his undoing begin._

_It was just a small spot, but warm enough to make his muscles want to give in and do the rest of it. This wasn't a little piss he had to do; this was a flood. He couldn't piss without getting caught._

_He flashed his gaze to John frantically, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Lestrade looked away. He had to piss, he had to piss, he had to piss..._

_"Not until we get home," John murmured, stepping close._

_"I can't wait," he whispered. "John, please, I can't- I can't-"_

_"No."_

_"I have to go!"_

_"Not until we get home," John repeated._

_"I can't!" Sherlock gasped as another trickle edged its way past his control. It took all of his determination not to grab himself through his trousers and double over in front of everybody. Another trickle, gaining power. "John!"_

Sherlock sighed unhappily. His dream had ended there, just like that. No resolution. He was disappointed, although he let his mind fragment out the ideas of possible scenarios in his mind.

It was during a stretch that Sherlock realised that the dream had been part reality.

His bladder was aching, full of urine that had been collecting throughout the night as he had slept. He stopped moving and curled his toes, relishing in the fact that his bladder was so full and that he hadn't noticed until now.

The dream had obviously been influenced by his need to urinate, although he was sure that this scenario would end better. For instance, Lestrade nor any of Scotland Yard's idiots were around. It was just Sherlock, in his bedroom, in his own bed...

He was going to have to get up, sooner than later. But, for now, he would appreciate the very real ache and the urge to shift about on the bed. His cock twitched hopefully, torn between arousal and pure desperation. His abdomen twinged and he reached down a hand to soothe it, sighing heavily.

It wasn't that he was tired, per se, but it was warm and comfortable under the blankets. Such inconveniences as urinating made for a certain way to ruin a perfect moment, but such was life. He rather enjoyed the feeling of a full bladder, enjoyed it when John enjoyed it, too, but there was the fine line between desperation and uncontrollable pissing that he had to mind. He was pleasantly toeing that line now, but he would have to get out of bed before long. The beaker he kept under his bed just wasn't going to cut this large amount of piss.

Sherlock laid quietly for fifteen minutes, dozing in and out of consciousness. Always he was nudged back by pain from his bladder and he ignored it. Mornings made him lethargic and even letting his fingers dance over his cock seemed like too much effort. He was gearing up to get out of bed, but he wasn't quite there yet.

"Sherlock- oh, sorry. You're usually awake by now."

Sherlock flicked his gaze to the doorway as John opened the door and then stopped to find Sherlock sprawled out in bed.

"My door was closed," Sherlock pointed out lazily, shifting his legs.

"I thought you just had an experiment on... Why are you laying in bed at noon on a Monday morning? Are you alright?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, shivering slightly at a pang from his bladder. "I woke up about a half hour ago. Post-case crash. I've got to piss."

John's reaction was less than noticeable to anyone else, but it spoke volumes to Sherlock. The slightest widening of the eyes, the pupils dilating, a flush that was not from embarrassment rising to his cheeks. "Er... Right. The loo's free."

Sherlock almost rolled his eyes again. "Obviously. I'm indulging."

"Oh. Well, er, I'll leave you to it, then." John muttered, starting to pull the door closed.

Sherlock sighed, straightening out with a wince. "I didn't mean like that. Both of my hands are currently free. I'm just relising in the feeling."

"Oh."

There seemed to be a note of tension in the air, something that always happened when one or the other (usually Sherlock) unexpectedly announced their need to use the loo. It was almost comical how neither of them knew what to say to breach that barrier, but once they got past it, it was every man for themselves. Sherlock wasn't sure what was going to come of this particular endeavour down his desperate boulevard, but he knew it was going to have to resolve itself soon. He couldn't wait much longer.

The silence dragged on. Even Sherlock started feeling a touch awkward. Not willing to let the tension spoil his mood, he shoved the blankets away in preparation to get his to feet.

"Tea would be nice," he said, sitting up and letting his hand rest on his aching bladder. The tea would go through him quickly, make him desperate sooner, especially given the volume of urine that he was holding back. If he had a lengthy holding session, he always got more desperate quickly later. "Or coffee."

He slid his hand down, pressing it against his half-erect state, his breathing stuttering slightly from the stimulation. He had decided: he was going to have a shower and a nice wank after this. It had been too many weeks too long. It was time to let his restrained fantasies run wild in his head while he worked himself to an orgasm that he had been self-denying for weeks. He simply hadn't had time to play piss games or bring himself off. Now, he was going to enjoy it.

"Oh, I wanted to ask," John said suddenly. It was so sudden that confusion drew Sherlock's eyebrows together as he looked towards his flatmate, but he didn't comment. The awkwardness must have gotten the best of the good doctor. "Have you seen this?"

"Probably," Sherlock said, his eyes flashing to John's mobile as the doctor typed something.

"Yeah, probably," John muttered, sitting next to him. "But just look at it, anyway."

Sherlock squinted towards John's mobile screen when he held it up. He was still groggy from sleep and the luminosity of the screen did little to help his eyes adjust. He was just started to put together that it was some gossip on a celebrity when fingers grasped the fleshy bits of his sides.

His reaction was instantaneous- and he would deny it later. A shrill yelp broke from his lips and he tried to twist away. He was dastardly ticklish on his sides and-

John dug his fingers in again, gripping on tightly.

A short bark of laughter bubbled from his lips as he tried to move. "John! Stop!" He jammed his thighs together, hand jambed between them, and desperately tried to hold back laughter and the flood of piss that was threatening to leak with every tickle. "John! I've got- John!"

He thrashed wildly for a moment as John forced him back on the bed. Hot piss escaped the confines of his barely plausible control, travelling in winding rivulets down his thigh. "John! John! Stop it! I've got to piss; let- let me up!"

If it had been anyone else, they wouldn't have been trying so desperately to hang on. If it had been anyone else, they _couldn't_ have. But as he thrashed and squirmed and tried to catch his breath through his mortified giggles, his control spluttered and waned. Another jet of piss shot out, the pressure tipping to unbearable. He pressed a hand against John's chest and tried to push him away, his other hand frantically clutching his cock through his damp trousers.

John hooked his fingers under Sherlock's arms, grinning like a madman.

"No, no, no, no, no, stop, stop, stop," Sherlock moaned, still laughing, still squirming, now starting to piss with uncontrollable force. He clenched his muscles futilely, thrashing about on the bed as piss soaked into his trousers. "John! The _bed_!"

Not that he had many inhabitions about pissing in bed. He didn't do it often, of course, but as long as it was cleaned up in reasonable time, there was no problem that air freshener couldn't fix.

When John hit him in another particularly sensitive spot, Sherlock's resistance left him with laughter that wouldn't stop. His damp trousers turned to soaked and piss spilled onto the duvet, the sheets. John stopped tickling him, sitting back on his ankles to just watch.

There was no stopping it. At this point, Sherlock could hardly care. He pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter- while he should have been mortified, and a part of him was- and tried to catch to his breath as he soaked his trousers. He couldn't even fathom getting out of bed now. He felt weak all over, as though he had already reached his place of orgasm and experienced it. He hadn't, but it was the same feeling, albeit maybe _slightly_ more breathless, and Sherlock loved it in a way that definitely proved he had a piss kink.

"You're... cleaning this... up," Sherlock muttered, shifting his weight. His pyjamas brushed together with a squishing noise. He sighed shakily, a pulsating pleasantness resonating through his veins. He was tired and breathless, but it was bliss.

"I think you need to clean yourself up," John replied.

Sherlock chuckled. "Thanks to you." He took another deep breath and pushed himself into a sitting position again. "Fuck, that felt good. The pissing bit," he added. "Not the tickling."

"I didn't know if you were ticklish," John admitted, grinning, "but I took that chance."

Sherlock got to his feet, eyeing the damage. "Lucky you."

"Lucky _you_. Those drenched pyjamas do nothing to hide."

Sherlock absently drew his fingers against his tented trousers. "Yes..." he trailed off before offering a lazy smile. "Points to you for the unexpected." It was the closest he got to _thank you_ , albeit if making him piss the bed was something he probably shouldn't be thanking John for. It just proved how messed up that he was, that they were.

John grinned. "Just wait until the next time."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Have a shower. Sort yourself out. I'll clean this up," John said, turning back to the bed.

Sherlock padded with squelching steps to the bathroom, the imprint of John's erection and his own previous overwhelming urge to piss giving him the perfect ammunition to have a perfectly wonderful shower.

* * *

"All better?" John asked when Sherlock wandered into the sitting room after his shower.

"Infinitely so," Sherlock said, flopping tiredly onto the sofa. The morning escapades combined with a powerful orgasm and a very hot shower left him feeling exhausted and worn down again. So much for the post-case crash. He was on a post-orgasm crash now.

John's little laugh was like music to his ears. "You still want that tea?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows to mask his pleasure at the question. He looked across the kitchen at John, meeting his gaze. "Obviously, John."

John grinned, rolled his eyes, and poured Sherlock a large cup of tea.

**Author's Note:**

> I love this scenario so much. Not necessarily the way I wrote it, but I love John tickling Sherlock 'til he soaks his knickers. I don't even know. Unfortunately, I've never seen this written, but I love the idea.


End file.
